The Sagas From The Suggestions
by MoreBonesPlz
Summary: This is a repository for one-shots and short stories in response to prompts and suggestions for story ideas.
1. Young Padawan

Story 1: YOUNG PADAWAN

 **A/N:** _This is in response to one of the Bonesology prompts: Parker teaches Hank something. Use your imagination._

Rated T.

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 **Disclaimer** : I own nothing _Bones_ related except my imagination. (10/15/2017)

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Parker Booth loved jogging through the streets of the neighborhood where his father lived early in the morning and watching the community waking up. Whether it was the middle aged executive looking guy a couple blocks south who could almost always be found taking practice swings with his golf clubs in his front yard or the elderly lady around the corner who wore the big yellow floppy hat and floral printed cotton gloves as she puttered in her garden, he always felt more connected to Americana on his runs. The flowers on windowsills, the dogs barking from behind the fences, occasionally passing a bicycle someone left on the edge of the sidewalk from the night before, all these simple things made him feel like he was running through a painting by Norman Rockwell. He may have lived in London for almost half his life now, but he was still an American through and through and he loved the US of A. Parker had promised his mother that he'd remain in England until he completed his education, but soon, he'd be totally done with school and he could start looking for a job that would bring him back to his home country.

It wasn't that he didn't like London too, but he currently shared a two-bedroom flat with three other guys at University. His mother lived in a flat in the city that had a much more cosmopolitan vibe to it than his Dad's neighborhood, which was cool for a while, but it never felt permanent to him. It was home, certainly, but from the day he and his mother had arrived in England, he'd always known he would be leaving again at some point. When he thought of his future, he wanted to live somewhere like here, where his father had finally found his dream. A great house in a nice neighborhood, a wife who loved him absolutely, and a couple of kids running around. All his dad and stepmom needed was a dog named "Spot."

At just a little past the five mile mark, Parker could spot the brick and glass walls of his father's low, ranch-style house through the trees. He slowed his pace and walked back and forth along the driveway for several minutes to cool down before wrapping up with a couple stretches.

Parker untucked his folded T-shirt from the waistband of his running shorts and wiped the sweat from his brow as he quietly slipped through the front door, closing it behind him.

"Parker . . . . Parker . . ."

"Heeey," Parker turned towards the living room at the excited sound of his little brother calling his name. "It's Hank the Tank! What are you doing up already this morning, little buddy?"

Six year old Hank ran towards his big brother and jumped into his arms, Parker swinging him around in a circle until he squeeled. "Put me down. Put me down. You're all covered in persprashion."

"Well, I've been out running and it's already getting kinda hot outside."

Hank reached for Parker's hand as soon as his feet were back on the ground. "Come with me, Parker. Come with me."

"Only for a minute, bud, then I've got to go shower." Parker followed Hank into the living room and watched as his little brother dropped to his knees on the carpet in front of the coffee table. Strewn all around him on the floor were crayons in a multitude of colors . . . not just your typical red, blue, green and yellow, but also colors like Desert Sand, Mountain Meadow, and Razzmatazz.

"Color with me, Parker. Please?"

"Sure thing, kiddo. Let me just grab a glass of water first and then I'll be right back."

After filling a glass with ice water, chugging it down, then refilling it again, Parker pulled over the ottoman from in front of the arm chair and sat down beside Hank. Hank opened up one of his coloring books and handed it to his brother. "Here, Parker. You color this picture. That's Spiderman and that's Mysterio. Mysterio's a bad guy and Spiderman's gonna beat him up and make him go to jail."

"Well, I guess if he's a bad guy, he probably deserves to go to jail, don't 'cha think?"

Hank thought for a moment, then shrugged. "I suppose."

For the next several minutes, Hank and Parker colored quietly together, each bringing to life their own battle scenes between Spiderman and one of the notorious villains Marvel comics had thrown in his path. Hank was very meticulous about his coloring, especially for a six year old. He studied his paper intensely and worked patiently and diligently to make sure he stayed mostly inside the lines. "Parker?"

"Yeah, bud?" Parker glanced at his little brother and saw him frowning in concentration.

"Do all bad guys have to go to jail?"

"Phew. Wow. That's a tough question there little man." Parker was pretty certain his Dad wouldn't want him saying anything that might frighten Hank, but he could remember how much he always appreciated Bones's blunt honesty when he was little like Hank and decided to try and be as honest as he thought she would be. "Unfortunately, no. Some bad guys never get caught but you don't need to be worried about them 'cause Dad and Bones will keep you safe, okay?"

Hank reached for a red crayon and started to slowly color in Spiderman's stockinged feet. "Is everyone who goes to jail a bad guy?"

"Well, that's kind of the point." Parker leaned over and ruffled Hanks hair. "Some people decide they don't like jail very much and don't want to be bad anymore, so when they get out, they behave better, but mostly the people that are in jail are there because they did something pretty bad."

Hank set down his red crayon very purposefully and reached for the Bluetiful one to keep working on Spiderman's costume. Parker watched his brother carefully, noticing that the little boy seemed abnormally tense. When he saw Hank start chewing fretfully on his bottom lip, he knew something was bothering the child.

"Hey, buddy, what's got you worried? You can talk to me about it, if you want."

At first, Parker thought he was going to be ignored as he was met with several seconds of silence, but then Hank turned and looked at him, worry clearly etched across his young face. "Are we bad guys?"

"What? No way. Why would you think that? You and me, we're some of the good guys." With a playful, light punch to Hank's shoulder, he exclaimed "We're awesome!"

"What about Dad?"

"Dad? Dad's one of the best of the good guys. He and your mom work really hard every day to make sure the real bad guys get arrested and can't hurt people anymore."

"Yeah, but Christine says Dad was in jail for a while before I was born and you just said everyone in jail is a bad guy. Did he used to be a bad guy and decide to be good cause he didn't like jail?"

Parker reached down and grabbed his brother beneath his armpits and pulled him into his lap. He could sense this was an issue that had probably been festering in his siblings small brain for at least a little while and he wanted to make sure they completely cleared the air, setting Hank's doubts to rest. "Dad's not a bad guy and never has been. Christine was right. He did spend a little time in prison about a year before you were born, but it was a mistake. Dad was trying to capture some bad guys and they lied to make it seem like Dad was bad. But Bones proved they were liars and Dad was set free. Now, everyone knows that he wasn't really bad and never has been."

Hank nodded his acceptance of Parker's explanation and then took a deep breath, saying in a rush "What about Mom?"

"Bones? I don't think your mom has ever gone to jail, buddy."

"Christine told me that when she was a baby, she and Mom had to run away and hide for a long time because the police wanted to arrest Mom."

"Well, okay. Yeah, that's true, but that was kind of like Dad's case. There was a bad guy who wanted to play games with your mom and he told some lies and tricked people into thinking your mom did some mean things, but she really didn't. Dad, Aunt Angela, and Uncle Jack were all able to help prove the bad guy was making things up and now you can understand why it is that Bones really doesn't like it when people tell fibs."

"That's true," Hank responded, thinking of the times he'd been reprimanded for not being truthful. "So, is that what happened with Grandpa Max too? Did bad guys lie and make him go to jail as well?"

Parker had a sudden memory of standing in the snow outside the federal prison with his father and a Christmas Tree that was connected to the truck's engine to power the lights. He remembered at some point asking his Dad how Max finally got out of jail and all he was told was that Bones had saved the old coot. Parker knew enough to know that Max's past was pretty shady, but he didn't really know any specifics. "Max's story is a little bit different and, to be honest, I don't really know all the details but I think Max was more naughty than bad."

Hank frowned. "I don't know what that means."

Parker sighed, trying to come up with the best way to explain it in terms a six year old would understand. "Do you remember a few weeks ago when Bones was feeling kinda sad because of a case she and Dad were working on that wasn't going smoothly and you decided to cheer her up with some flowers?"

"Yeah," Hank responded cautiously, "but I was just trying to be nice."

"I know, bud, and it might've been okay if you only picked 2 or 3 of Mrs. Eberley's daffodils from her garden next door, but you picked like 50 of them and barely left any alive in her garden."

"It was only 46," Hank responded sullenly.

"Right. 46. See, the point is you weren't trying to be bad or be mean to Mrs. Eberley. You were actually just trying to do something nice for your mom, but, you didn't stay within the rules of good behavior so you had to be punished, spending the next day helping Mrs. Eberley plant all new flower bulbs that Dad made you help pay for from your allowance. You weren't trying to be mean or bad, you were just naughty. I think Grandpa Max was kinda like that. He wasn't a mean person or a bad person. Not really. But, when he was trying to be nice to someone or to protect someone, he didn't always follow the rules, and that made him naughty. Naughty enough that the police arrested him. Bones managed to convince the police to let him go though, so it couldn't have been too bad."

Hank crossed his arms and stared out the window for a moment, thinking about Parker's words and processing them. "Okay."

"You all good now?"

Hank nodded and wiggled his way off his brother's lap, feeling satisfied and confident once more that he and his family were on the right side of justice. "Not like Mysterio though. Mysterio is definitely a bad guy."

THE END.

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 **A/N:** _I have to laugh at myself. I sat down last night to write this story thinking I would write a fun, fluffy piece about Parker showing Hank how to make a soda bottle explode using mentos, like he and Max did at the end of S4E10. Obviously, that's not at all what came out though! Muse went rogue. Anyway, hope folks enjoyed this deviation instead and if anyone else wants to run with my original idea, go wild! Reviews and comments are always welcomed._


	2. Making Time

**A/N:** _This is in response to one of the Bonesology prompts: The first time Booth and Brennan try to have sex after Christine is born._

 _Unlike the last story, this one is written more for the over 18 audience. Note rating._

Rated M.

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 **Disclaimer** : I own nothing _Bones_ related except my imagination.

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Special Agent-In-Charge Seeley Booth was sitting in his office, leaning back in his chair with his feet propped up on the corner of his desk, crossed at the ankles, while he studied the file Charlie had recently dropped off summarizing everything they had managed to discover so far about the victim in their latest case. Bones had called him just a couple hours ago and given the victim her name back and with that, Charlie and his crew had quickly discovered where she lived, where she worked, the name of the park where she walked her dog most nights after work, and that she attended a spin class at the local Y on Wednesday evenings and Saturday mornings. Hodgins had used some bizarrely named beetle to pin-point the time of death as late Wednesday night, so the spin class could become relevant and Booth was thinking they should call Max to stay with Christine for a couple hours while they go interview the class instructor later that evening. Max wax crazy about his new grand-daughter and Booth was trying to get Brennan to relax and let him spend more time with the baby.

"I want to have sex."

Booth's head snapped up at the unexpected sound of his partner's voice, and he found Temperance Brennan standing in his doorway, just like so many other times over the years, and he automatically catalogued her appearance, also like so many other times over the years. Brown boots that he knew stopped just below her knees even though the tops were currently hidden by her favorite, tan trench coat, belted at her waist. Arms casually dangling at her sides. Chin tilted up just slightly in that stubborn manner that telegraphed her resolve. Glossy auburn hair reflecting a shine from the overhead fluorescent lights falling softly to her shoulders. As he watched, he saw her step into his office and turn to shut and lock the door, pulling the cord that closed the blinds, isolating them from the prying eyes in the bull pen. "Wha . . . what did you say?"

Brennan spun around to face him. He could see both the determination and the hunger reflected on her face, a lethal combination that he knew intuitively would be a challenge to overcome. "I would like to have sex . . . Now . . . With you."

Despite his better judgment, he could feel his blood start to race a little faster through his veins and his penis twitched in eager anticipation. They'd been intimately involved with one another for almost a year now, but he still occasionally found himself amazed that this woman – so smart, so beautiful, so dedicated and loyal to those she loved – had selected him to share her life with and his heart warmed at her _With you_ declaration even as his brain was throwing up red flags. Dropping his feet back to the floor, he sat up straight in his chair, knowing he had to try to reason with her. They were at the Hoover, in his office, during working hours for goodness sake. Sex would be wrong, very wrong . . . thrillingly, splendidly wonderful too, no doubt, but oh, so wrong. "Bones, baby, we can't just . . . "

"In the Kaswannaque tribe they believe that when a child is delivered from a woman, he carries with him the essence that attracted his mother to his father so she will focus her attention on the child," she interrupted. "In order to maintain a whole and healthy familial unit, the father must physically re-establish his bond with the mother by bathing her womb in semen before the essence of attraction fades fully and the child becomes the sole recipient of the mother's attention."

"What? That just sounds like an excuse for the Kwacky tribesman to get laid if you ask me." Booth pushed to his feet and walked around to the front of his desk, holding his hands out, palms up, in front of him. Brennan stepped forward and unhesitatingly placed her hands in his, letting him pull her a little closer as he looked down into her eyes. "Bones, you're beautiful. You've always been beautiful to me, since the day I met you," he said, reaching up and tucking a stray stand of hair behind her ear, "but now, when I look at you, I see so much more than just your pretty smile, your gorgeous eyes, or your fabulous body. I see the woman I love, the woman I would die for and even kill for, the mother of my child. I see my home and my future and the culmination of my dreams. Trust me, you don't need to worry that the attraction has faded or ever will. I love you."

Brennan moved forward and placed her head against Booth's chest as his arms wrapped around her, pulling her in for a tender embrace.

"I want to feel you inside of me again," she stated. "I miss having you embedded so deep inside me that it's hard to tell where I stop and you begin," she practically purred, leaning back so she could look up at his face. "There's a feeling of connection when we make love unlike anything else in my experience and I miss that. Don't you?"

"Well, yeah. Of course."

It had been 8 weeks and 4 days since the last time they'd made love. Not that he was counting, specifically. That would make him a cad. It's just that they celebrated Christine's 8 week birthday the day before and he could still recall, quite fondly, making love to this woman just a few days before their daughter was born. It had been early in the morning as they slowly woke to a new day. Booth came out of his slumber to find himself spooned around her, his arm draped over her waist and his hand gently cupping her swollen belly with their daughter resting just beneath his palm. In that moment, he'd felt almost overwhelmed with just how lucky he was to have Temperance Brennan as his mate and just how much he loved her, so he'd woken her with kisses and slipped into her welcoming warmth from behind. With gentle strokes and soft words, he tried to convey just how much she meant to him. "But, I can wait a little longer."

"Well, I can't wait any more," she declared pulling out of his embrace and moving to his desk, rearranging the surface clutter to clear off the end two feet. "The doctor gave us the all clear to engage in vaginal intercourse almost two weeks ago." She sent a sad little smile his way. "I wanted to make love to you last night, and the night before that too, but I find that by the time I get home from work, all I want to do is hold Christine for the remainder of the night and when I finally put her down to bed, I just feel tired and I'm unable to sustain an amorous mood."

"It won't always be like this, Bones. Christine slept over four hours straight last night and it should just keep getting better."

Brennan leaned against the end of his desk and reached down, sliding the zipper on her boot down to her ankle. The hum of the zipper coming undone was like a siren's call beckoning Booth's blood to flow south of his belt line and he watched her every move with naked fascination.

"Our lives have always been very full and busy. With Christine in our home, we have to accommodate meeting her needs too and she's often the highest priority. That said, all the studies I've read indicate it is important for us to make time for our relationship as well, even if making time occasionally seems inconvenient. Especially in the beginning, where putting off our needs can quickly evolve into habit."

"Okay, I get all that, but this . . ." he swept his arm out, gesturing to where they were, ". . . this is a bad idea."

"I disagree. This is a wonderful idea, Booth, and based on the erection that appears to be trying to break out of your pants, I think you're more amenable than you're letting on."

"We're in my office," he protested half-heartedly.

The smile she gave him was pure sin. "I seem to have an exceedingly vivid recollection of a very satisfying encounter that occurred in my office a few months ago, which _you_ were the one to initiate," she declared reaching for her second boot and watching Booth's ears turn pink. "What makes my office an appropriate venue for engaging in intercourse, but not yours?"

Booth swallowed hard at the sound of her shoes hitting the floor as she hopped up onto his desk, legs dangling off the edge. "It's only four o'clock in the afternoon, and there's an office full of people outside my door." His mouth was listening to his brain and continued to protest, but his body betrayed him as his hands started to untuck his dress shirt from his waistband.

"You didn't even bother to close the blinds when we were in my office."

"It was late. Everyone was gone already."

"I'm not sure that an audience would've mattered," she accused with a sultry laugh. "You were extremely eager that night."

Booth would never tell her about the conspiratorial smile and wink he got from Jackson, one of the night security guards at the Jeffersonian, the next time he'd shown up at her office, calling into doubt just how alone they'd actually been.

"It's inappropriate," he tried, recognizing the argument was weak, even to his own ears.

"I assure you, this is entirely consensual." She leaned forward, hooking one finger right behind his Cocky belt buckle and giving a gentle tug. He stepped closer, nudging her legs apart and she reached for his tie, pulling him closer still. "I just recently gave birth to your daughter, Booth. I'm sure everyone is aware Christine was not the by-product of a one night stand and that we are sexually active."

"People will speculate. They'll talk."

"Well, if they suspect that we're hiding in here engaging in coitus, they'll be right and if they don't suspect that, then they're probably not very good FBI agents, are they? You should fire anyone who doesn't figure it out."

"Bones . . ."

She silenced him the best way she knew how, by placing her lips over his. Her hands slid up his chest and over his shoulders as their tongues tangled in a dance that was familiar yet still felt refreshingly new after their recent hiatus from intimate encounters. The fingers of one hand wrapped around the nape of his neck and tangled in the short hairs that met his collar while the other hand moved forward and skilfully began unravelling the knot of his tie at his neck.

Booth pulled away, just enough to break the kiss, when she moved on to the buttons of his shirt. "I can't resist you. You know that, don't you?"

"Good. If the Deputy Director complains, you can tell him you were expertly seduced."

Together, they finished slipping the buttons of his shirt through their eyelets, then she pushed the garment off his shoulders, letting it fall to the ground as he grasped his undershirt and tugged it over his head. Booth reached for the belt of her trench coat.

"Mmm, wait, I almost forgot," she halted him. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a tube of KY jelly and set it on the desk top beside her hip. "Now, you may proceed."

"Lubricant?" Booth raised his eyebrows at her. "We've never needed a lubricant before, Bones. You sure you really want this? Because if you don't, it's okay . . ."

"Yes, I'm certain of what I want, Booth, but vaginal dryness is extremely common in the first couple months after giving birth, especially for a woman who is breast feeding, despite her level of arousal. The female body temporarily reduces the amount of estrogen it produces which affects the elasticity of the vaginal tissues and can make phallic penetration irritatingly uncomfortable even though my muscles are likely still stretched out from the process of delivery. The literature I've read suggests an artificial lubricant such as this be utilized to supplement our intimate activities until my hormone levels return to normal."

Once more, Booth reached for the belt of her trench coat. Brennan put her arms on the desk behind her and leaned back, watching her lover's face as he opened her coat and realized she had no other articles of clothing on underneath. His sudden indrawn breath and the unmistakeable heat that rapidly filled his eyes were all the confirmation she needed to know that he was completely engaged in their afternoon tryst and looking forward to this as much as she was.

"Good Lord," he muttered, seemingly mesmerized by her exposed breasts. "Those babies are absolutely magnificent." He reached out and gently cupped one breast in his palm, hefting it slightly so he could place his lips on the upper part of the swell before giving its twin a similar treatment. He avoided the areoles because he was unsure how sensitive she might be. Being this close, he could smell the sweet residue of milk from an earlier feeding on her skin and the thought of it, the mental image of their daughter suckling at Brennan's breasts, just made him that much harder. "Lucky, Christine."

Brennan chuckled and sat up enough that she could reach Booth's belt buckle and let her nimble fingers exercise their skill. "They're rather full right now." _Kiss_. Cocky released his hold on the leather band wrapped around Booth's waist. "I fed Christine at lunch time and I'll need to rush back and feed her again when we're done here, before taking her home." _Kiss_. The hum of another zipper coming undone and Booth could feel the constriction of his pants fall away. _Kiss_. "It's a curious sensation actually." _Kiss_. With a shove, his boxers fell to his knees, joining his pants. _Kiss_. "They feel warm and tight when they're full." Cool fingers wrapped around his heat and she stroked back and forth, applying pressure in the way she knew would bring him to the edge. _Kiss_. "Although after she feeds, they're more like partially deflated water balloons and I'm not certain you'd find them nearly as impressive."

"Booones," he groaned, "I swear I will always find them impressive. I find everything about you impressive, but right now, you're killing me. If you keep doing what you're doing, I'm not gonna last and after I go off like an untried schoolboy, I'll be the one resembling a deflated water balloon." He reached for her hips and pulled her towards him so that she was just barely perched on the edge of the desk. He wanted to plunge into her and jackhammer away all the repressed desire that had built up the past couple months, but he knew he couldn't do that to her this time. She was still healing and he needed to be gentle.

"Well . . ." she leaned up and nibbled on his earlobe, "we don't want that, do we?" She popped the lid on the tube of KY and poured a generous dollop in the palm of her hand, then she cupped him, causing him to yelp.

"Fuck. That's cold."

"Sorry." She slicked her hand all along his length until he was thoroughly coated, then guided him to her entrance. "Perhaps this will feel better."

Booth pushed forward. "You'll let me know if it hurts."

Brennan shifted, pushing back. "It's a little different feeling."

Booth paused. Brennan immediately wrapped her arms around his waist, grasping his ass and refusing to let him back away. "Don't stop. It feels different. Not bad. Not painful."

Booth grunted and slowly pushed forward a little more.

"Yes. Oooh, yes. That's it."

Forward, a little more.

"Mmmmm."

A little more.

Until he was seated as deep as he could go.

They held each other for a moment, relishing the feeling connection they'd both been missing, neither moving, allowing her body time to adjust. Then she let go of her grip on his backside and sat up, shifting her arms around his torso and using her legs to clasp his lower body. This position pressed them more fully together, from the place where they were joined to their upper bodies.

They exchanged another carnal kiss as Booth slowly started to move. In, out. Push, pull. Friction not only where they joined, but everywhere they touched. Without conscious thought, Booths hands moved from Brennan's hips, caressing her sides and trailing towards her breasts. His thumbs grazed the peaks of her nipples and she gasped at the ensuing pleasure, clenching tightly around him, so he gently plucked at the tips, squeezing each nub between his thumb and forefinger like he'd done a hundred times before with her. Her reaction this time took him by surprise.

"Oh, God." She pulled back from him and they both looked down to her chest at the fluid that was starting to drip steadily from her breasts.

"Let down. My body thinks Christine is trying to feed." She cupped her breasts trying to capture the leaking milk and looked at Booth. "I can't stop it at will."

"I know. It's okay, Bones."

"I need a towel. There," she pointed to the floor a couple feet away, "give me your undershirt."

Booth withdrew from her body and stepped back, pulling his underwear and pants up and reaching for his tee shirt, which he handed to Brennan. For the next several minutes, she sat there on his desk, naked and exposed except for the shirt she held pressed to her chest to absorb the dampness.

She gave Booth a self-deprecating smile. "So much for my grand seduction. This was not the ending I anticipated."

Booth kissed her forehead. Then, with a curled finger under her chin, tilted her head up to look at him. "Your seduction was perfect, Bones. We live in the real world, not some story book fairy tale, and sometimes things like this happen. It keeps life interesting. Besides, now that I know for sure you're ready, I promise you, I will make time for the two of us. As a matter of fact, I expect you could use a shower when you get home with Christine. If you want some help . . . ."

THE END

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 **A/N:** _Hope you enjoyed that and don't hate me too much for the ending being less "happy" than it could've been – the prompt did say when they "try" to have sex the 1_ _st_ _time. As always, comments and reviews are appreciated. By the way, right now I'm tinkering with the prompts put out by Bonesology, but, I'm open to other ideas too, if my muse can get on board. If you have a story suggestion, feel free to let me know in a review or PM. No promises, but will try._


	3. How To Kidnap an FBI Agent

**A/N:** _So I was involved in a discussion recently with some other Bones fans about the likely logistics involved for the Gravedigger to kidnap Booth from his apartment in Hero in the Hold. At the end of our chat, FaithInBones joked that I should write a fic on how to kidnap Booth. Well . . . this has nothing to do with the actual episode we were discussing and probably isn't at all what she was thinking of, but, the muse decided to take the prompt and play with it. So voila . . . here's what came out._

 _Blame FaithInBones. This one is dedicated to her – she writes so much for others, she ought to have something written for her occasionally!_

 _Oh, and by the way, this one is written for the over 18 audience. Note rating._

Rated M.

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Brennan scrutinized her reflection in the mirror, checking to make sure everything was just the way she wanted it as she placed the last bobby pin in her hair. She wanted everything tight and secure so when she slipped the black ski mask that was currently resting on the corner of her bed over her head, she wouldn't have to waste any time rearranging her hair or brushing loose strands away from the eye holes.

Stepping back, she let her eyes track down past the black cotton and polyester blend body-shaping turtle neck that hugged her upper torso to the snug, form-fitting black jeans that revealed her feminine curves. Turning her hips and looking over her shoulder, she confirmed that she had the cat-burglar look down pat.

Black ankle socks and black tennis shoes completed her ensemble and with a crooked grin towards her reflection, she nodded her head. "Let's do this," she told the image staring back at her, ignoring the excited butterflies twirling around in her belly. With a quick spin on her toes, she scooped up the mask in her fist and headed out of the room, reaching out to flick off the lights as she passed through the door.

The drive to Booth's apartment building passed quickly. It was late enough that there was minimal traffic on the streets, but still early enough that Booth should be awake. Brennan parked her rented handicap van in the shadows about a block away from his apartment and settled down to wait. Turning on the radio, she tuned in to the sports station broadcasting the hockey game Booth had indicated he planned to watch while she waited for the second period to draw closer to an end.

While Brennan was not typically regarded as a gambler, this was one time where she couldn't seem to walk away. If she lost, she'd be mildly embarrassed and probably have to put up with teasing, taunting comments from Booth for weeks, if not months to come. But if she won . . . the potential payoff was invaluable in her mind.

It all came about when she and Booth were having drinks at the Founding Fathers after wrapping up the Chapman case almost two months earlier.

" _So, Abigail confessed?" Brennan had asked Booth._

" _Yeah. Of course, she said she never meant to really hurt the guy, let alone kill him, but she didn't know how much force was required to knock out a 230 lb man, so she hit him too hard with the bat."_

" _Well, he might have been able to survive the cranial injury if he'd received prompt medical attention, but she also did irreversible damage to his spinal column when she dragged him down that flight of steps. Even if he'd lived, his lower extremities probably would've been permanently paralyzed."_

 _Booth snickered. "I just don't get it. I mean, did she really believe that she'd be able to kidnap him like that? She's probably 8-inches shorter and at least 60 to 80 pounds lighter than him. There's no way she was going to be able to secretly haul his unconscious body out of his apartment without hurting him."_

" _It could be done, but most people just don't take the time to rationally think through a problem before they jump into action."_

" _C'mon, Bones. No way." Booth shook his head skeptically, then pointed the long neck of his beer bottle at her. "Look, as a soldier, I've carried unconscious men by myself before and I'm just saying it ain't that easy to haul someone around. Lionel Chapman was too big for Abigail to handle."_

" _You're only considering brute strength and you're not making any allowance for ingenuity."_

 _Booth scoffed. "That's like saying that just because you're a Brainiac, you could kidnap someone like me from my apartment after rendering me unconscious without hurting me. I simply don't believe it's that easy to do."_

 _Brennan bristled. She always got prickly when Booth questioned her capabilities. Lips pressed tightly together, she looked at Booth and snapped "I could do it if I wanted to."_

 _He laughed, raising her hackles even more. "Right, Bones. Keep on telling yourself that." Booth placed both elbows on the table, crossing his arms and, ignoring her frown, leaned in to her personal space so he could speak more softly, almost seductively. "She was planning to take Lionel to a remote cabin and entice him into a lover's tryst. She was certain that if she could just get him alone for a couple days, they'd be having Wild Monkey Sex all over the place. Not exactly sure why she thought a conk to the noggin would be seen as foreplay, but hey, whatever." The side of Booth's mouth curled up even more. "So tell me . . . what would you do with me, Bones, if in some imaginary universe you were actually able to pull off my kidnapping, hmm?"_

 _He was so close. Brennan could feel the gentle caress of his breath on her face as he spoke and there was something indefinable in his gaze . . . something that made her heart beat accelerate, but in a pleasant way . . . something that made her stomach clench in anticipation . . . something that made a warmth pool between her thighs. They'd been dancing around their attraction for each other for years now and lately, they'd both started pushing the limits – just a little bit here or a little bit there. She was certain it was just a matter of time before they finally gave in, but they were both so stubborn in their own ways. She let her face relax into a seductive smile, slowly running just the tip of her tongue across her upper teeth as she tilted just a tad further towards him, closing the gap between their faces to just a couple inches. "A lover's tryst with wild_ _non-hominoid simian_ _sex sounds . . . quite intriguing. Too bad there's a line between you and me . . ."_

 _She watched his nostrils flare and heard him suck in his breath, his eyes never leaving hers. "Fuck the line, Bones. I'd be at your mercy and you could do anything you wanted with me."_

" _Anything?"_

" _Anything."_

 _With that promise, he'd sealed his fate. The temptation was just too great for her to resist any longer._

Finally, after about 15-minutes that had felt like two hours, the sports broadcaster on the radio announced there were just a few minutes left on the clock. That was her cue.

She could feel the adrenaline rushing through her system as she maneuvered the van into the alley way behind Booth's building, stopping the vehicle beneath the fire escape that led past his window. Beside her, on the passenger's seat was a small black knapsack that had all the tools she anticipated needing for this phase of tonight's activities, including her ski mask which she pulled out now and slipped on over her head.

Tossing the knapsack over her shoulders, she climbed on top of the van and reached for the fire-escape ladder, clambering up onto the wrought iron steel landing that hung about 9 feet off the ground. Up one flight of steps and she was able to peek into Booth's window. He was right where she expected him to be – sitting on the edge of his couch, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, eyes glued to the television. A bottle of his favorite beer sat on the coffee table within easy reach. Brennan glanced at the TV and noted the game clock indicated 27 seconds left in the period.

She ducked to the side and took off her knapsack, reaching in to pull out a small black cloth pouch that contained an assortment of small metal instruments and a fresh bottle of Booth's favorite beer. She popped the top off, dumped out about 2/3 of the brew over the edge of the stair landing, and dropped in a quick dissolving minor tranquilizer that she knew would make him sleepy without reacting with any of his other standard medications. Another quick glance in the window and she saw the period was just ending. After spending many a night sitting beside Booth on his couch with a hockey game playing in the background, she predicted he'd get up and go to the bathroom now, then go to the kitchen and get a fresh beer.

As soon as he left the room, she went to work on the window lock. As a child, her father had often presented Russ and her with different "puzzles" to work out. It wasn't until she'd become an adult and learned about Max Keenan's past that she fully understood he'd been teaching them the skills to pick locks among other things. That knowledge certainly came in handy now. She knew the type of locks on Booth's windows and had been practicing on a mock-up in her own kitchen the last couple weeks. Now, she had the lock undone and was sliding the window open in less than 15-seconds after Booth left the room.

Brennan reached down for her doctored beer and quickly slipped into the living room, swapping it out with the nearly empty bottle Booth had left on the table. She took his bottle with her and ducked back out the window, pulling it closed behind her just as she heard the toilet flush down the hall.

Brennan sat down on the far side of the fire escape landing. She could easily see inside Booth's well-lit apartment, but she was far enough away from the window that Booth wouldn't see her in the dark if he glanced her way unless he was right up against the glass. She watched him return from the bathroom and head for the kitchen and knew by the changing light patterns on the wall when he opened his refrigerator. Sure enough, he sauntered back into the living room a moment later with a fresh beer in one hand and a fried chicken drumstick clamped between his teeth.

She watched as he set the new beer bottle next to the old one, then lifted the old. He frowned at the bottle and swirled it around as though questioning the amount of beer left, then pulled the chicken leg from his mouth and chugged the remnants of the old beer, walking back to the kitchen to toss the bottle into the recycling bin before returning to the couch.

Brennan smiled to herself. Whether Booth was simply so predictable or whether it was only because she knew him so well, he'd behaved exactly as she'd anticipated.

Now, she just had to wait for the drugs to take effect.

Grabbing her knapsack, Brennan quietly climbed up the fire-escape to the next level. This was the phase of her plan that she was the least confident about and felt the most exposed. She'd be on this stair case for at least 15 more minutes, maybe longer, then she'd be in and out of his window for another 10-20 minutes while she hauled him out. That meant there was at least a full half hour where it was possible someone could come by and spot her.

She took a moment to scan her surroundings.

Nothing moved.

Given the time of night, day of the week, and her off-the-beaten path location, she'd calculated the odds and they were in her favour for remaining undetected, but nonetheless, there were variables she couldn't control. To be honest, she was finding it quite exhilarating too.

Setting her knapsack at her feet on the landing above Booth's floor, she reached in and started extracting an assortment of ropes, straps, pulleys, and carabiners she'd borrowed from the Jeffersonian's supply closet. For the next several minutes, she worked on suspending the pulleys from the stair case framing and threading the rope through them. Once done, she pulled a bed sheet and a harness from the knapsack and snuck down the stairs leading to Booth's level again.

Booth looked like he was sleeping peacefully.

She watched through the window a little longer to be certain he wouldn't stir. Sliding his window open, she crawled through again and tip-toed to where he sat, head back on the back of the couch and breaths coming deep and even.

"Booth?"

No response.

She reached out and gently shook his shoulder. "Booth?"

Still, no response.

Brennan grinned.

Walking around to the front of the couch, she wrestled Booth into a chest harness. It slipped over his shoulders, not too dissimilar to his shoulder holster but with a few extra straps and was relatively easy to put on. Then she spread the bed sheet she'd brought on the floor by his feet and gently shifted his body, a little at a time, until she had him laid out on the floor. Once she had him down prone, she slipped some leg loops over his slippered feet and up his thighs, buckling them to the chest harness so he'd be properly supported when she got him on the rope.

She moved a couple pieces of furniture that were in the way, then grabbed two corners of the sheet and pulled, dragging Booth over to the window. Leaning out of the window, she grabbed the carabiner at the end of the rope and pulled it in through the window, attaching it to the metal rings on the front of Booth's chest harness. Then she got down on her knees beside him and hoisted him up into a sitting position, leaning against the wall right below the window. This was followed by a series of small tugs and adjustments to the pulley system that lifted him up.

Her efforts weren't pretty or elegant and she found his limp body much more difficult to manipulate than she had expected, taking a lot more time than she had assumed, but she persevered. She kept the line taught using a self-locking belay mechanism on the rope for whenever she had to let go to swing him around over obstacles like the window sill or the stair railing. Eventually, he was hanging clearly and she lowered him almost to the ground.

Brennan scampered down the fire escape and opened the back of the van, pulling out a wheelchair. She rolled the chair over to directly beneath Booth and moved him around so he was almost sitting. Then she scrambled back up the stairs, loosened the rope enough for him to drop the final couple inches into the wheelchair before quickly beginning to disassemble her system.

Sliding the window to his apartment shut, she stuffed everything else back into her knapsack, then climbed down the stairs for the last time.

Once on the ground, she used the handicap accessible lift to get Booth's wheelchair into the van and secured, then she left the scene of her first ever (and presumably last ever) kidnapping behind her.

.

.

.

Booth wasn't sure what woke him, but it didn't take him long to realize something wasn't right. His first instinct upon waking was to turn and check the time on his bedside clock, but when he tried to roll onto his side, he couldn't do it. His arm was pinned to the mattress. When he tried to roll over to check his arm, he realized his other arm was also pinned to the mattress on his other side and everything was pitch black even when he tried to open his eyes.

He didn't panic. Cool, tough ex-Army Rangers turned FBI-Special-Agents didn't panic easily, not even when they found themselves inexplicably tied down and blindfolded, but his body immediately locked up in tension and he felt an intense anger towards his unknown opponent surge to the surface.

Suddenly, a straw was placed against his lips and he jerked his head away sharply. His mouth might feel like it was stuffed with cotton wool, but he wasn't ready to put anything in his mouth given to him by his captor.

He heard a soft feminine chuckle. "Drink, Booth. It's just water and it will make you feel better."

Without conscious thought, much of the tension and anger drained from his body at the sound of _her_ familiar voice leaving him relieved, but still confused. "Bones? What . . . "

"Shhhh," she hushed him, gently tapping his lips with a fingertip before presenting him the straw again. Booth felt the mattress beneath him shift as she sat down beside him. This time he drank without hesitation, though only a few sips before she pulled the cup away. "Not too much, too fast, Booth."

"What the hell's going on, Bones?"

He felt the warmth of her palm settle on his chest along the upper half of his sternum and the pressure of her other arm against the mattress right beside his head as she leaned against it. Brennan bent over and placed her mouth right next to his ear and stage-whispered, quite triumphantly, "Gotcha!"

 _Gotcha_. The word echoed in his mind but he was still struggling to make sense of it. It didn't help that Booth was intoxicated by the scent that was uniquely Bones which filled his nostrils and the tickle of her breath against his ear. He licked his lips. "I don't . . . I'm not sure . . . what does that mean?"

He felt her pull away slightly and the mattress shift again as she altered her position to sit more fully beside him on the bed, her legs now stretching out beside his. She didn't remove her hand from his chest though, not entirely. Her palm lifted leaving just the tip of one finger lingering lightly on his skin. Slowly, she started to drag that finger down, tracing a line along his sternum, between his pectorals, then on to his abdominals. "It means . . . you're at my mercy." The lone finger reached his navel and started to circle the rim slowly. "What should I do with you?" she mused.

Booth wasn't entirely certain if that last question was directed towards him or towards herself, but his body seemed to be understanding the situation quicker than his brain. He could feel his arousal building and that tingling sense of . . . something . . . in his balls which let him know his cock was starting to stiffen. "Am I naked?" he asked. Her finger was definitely trailing across his bare skin.

He felt a pause as she circled his navel again. "No. Not entirely. I did remove the T-shirt you were wearing depicting that old band you idolize. That's all."

"It's The Grateful Dead, Bones, and they're so much more than just an old band."

"Mmmm," she acknowledged non-committedly. The next time her finger circled around to the bottom of his navel, she let it drift south another inch until she hit the waist band of his sweat pants, then her finger drifted sideways towards one hip, before reversing course tracking towards the other hip.

Booth figured she must know of the effect what she was doing to him was having. She had to be able to see his erection tenting his sweatpants now. "Bones?"

When she reached the hip bone closest to her, she let her finger slip just beneath the waistband and pulled up, snapping the elastic of his pants against him. "I debated taking these off too." Her voice was soft, like she was spilling a confession. "Originally I planned to do so." She chuckled softly. "Then I realized you, hm . . . what do you call it? . . . oh yes, commando. You were commando . . . . I admit, it almost didn't stop me." Booth heard her sigh and could picture her face – a thoughtful expression with just the hint of a frown tilting her brows down as she looked introspectively and judged her own actions. "However, I decided I needed to be sure you really meant what I thought you meant when you said _anything_ before I crossed that line."

 _Gotcha . . . at her mercy . . . Fuck the line, Bones . . . you could do anything_ . . . the conversation they'd had that night after closing the Lionel Chapman case came flooding back to him and suddenly he knew exactly what was happening.

Bones was declaring an end to their "just partners" farce.

Finally.

Booth felt his heart rate start to accelerate at the prospect and a little more blood flowed south of his waistline.

To be honest, right after their discussion that night, he'd wondered whether or not she might try to nab him and he'd spent a couple weeks being hyper vigilant. He'd never make it too easy for her, but he had to admit he'd been disappointed that she hadn't even tried. But now? It had been a couple months and he'd relaxed his guard, completely forgetting about the gauntlet he'd thrown down and she'd caught him by surprise.

That ability of hers to catch him unawares and continually surprise him was just one of the many reasons he loved her. Loved her and trusted her with both his life and his soul. She'd never deliberately hurt him.

" _Anything_ means just that. . . anything, Bones. No more lines."

He heard her sigh of relief and realized she had probably been worried about his reaction upon waking. Not without reason since he'd woken up angry. Now, he had the urge to comfort her and wanted to hold her in his arms. Booth tugged on his restraints. "Let me up, Bones."

"No. Not yet. I've been fantasizing about this too much in the last few weeks to let you go too quickly."

"Oh, God." She'd been fantasizing about him. _Him_. How had he not known?

The noise that reached him next sounded like she was shifting through a bag of rocks, but then he felt icy coolness against his lips again and realized she'd grabbed an ice cube from an ice bucket. She traced his lips with the cool ice and he couldn't help but follow it with his tongue. Once she'd made a full circle, she took the ice away for a few seconds, then brought it back. This time he opened his lips and let her feed it to him, letting it melt on his tongue.

"I've been sitting here watching you while I waited for you to wake up, Booth. I don't believe you have any idea of how much I'm looking forward to exploring your entire body. Everywhere my eyes have touched, I also want to touch with my hands. And my lips. I am very much looking forward to becoming intimately acquainted with your whole body."

"Fuck." Just like Bones, to share whatever's on her mind.

"Does that bother you?"

"No," he croaked.

There was a moment of silence.

"Does that appeal to you?"

"Oh, God," Booth groaned. "So damn much, Bones."

"When I brushed against your nipples as I removed your t-shirt, they pearled into hard little buds and all I've been able to think about since then is whether or not you would enjoy it if I sucked on one, teasing it with my teeth. I wonder, would the feeling of receiving such attention to your breasts be as pleasurable to you as it is for me when my breasts are caressed, kissed, or nibbled upon?"

Her words and the images they evoked sent a thrill of heat shooting through his body, all the way to his toes. "Jesus Christ, Bones. Are you trying to kill me?"

She chuckled. "No, of course not. I'm just trying to convey to you how much I want you. How much I desire you. And how much I wish to pleasure you. Would you mind if I kissed you now, Booth?"

Booth sucked in a breath. "God, yes."

"Yes, as in I have your permission to kiss you or yes as in you would mind?"

"Yes as in shut up and c'mere, Bones. Kiss me. Touch me. Feel me. Explore my body all you want, just realize that when you're done, I'm gonna want my turn too."

"Deal," she whispered right before she sealed it with a kiss.

She tried to start slowly, the first brush of her lips against his just a soft slide of warm skin against warm skin but Booth's hunger demanded more and drew her in deeper. She found herself leaning into him, her lips pressing more firmly until she felt his tongue probing the entrance to her mouth. Then, all bets were off. Years of pent up desires unleashed and they both poured everything they had bottled up for so long into where they were finally allowing their bodies to merge. It was a hot, wet, and voracious kiss that engaged lips, tongues, and teeth and neither partner seemed eager to end it so it went on and on.

Finally, Brennan pulled back to get a full breath of air and adjust her position. "I want to see your eyes," she announced before sliding her fingers up his cheek and under his blindfold, pushing it up and off his head.

Booth blinked several times as his eyes adjusted and looked around at what appeared to be a dimly lit standard hotel room. The only light came from the bathroom, but it was enough to bathe the room in a soft glow and to let him clearly see Brennan half-sitting, half-laying beside him, dressed in a form fitting black outfit that he found incredibly sexy. Someday, he'd want to see her wearing that again, but now, as his eyes finally landed on hers and saw the embers of heat burning in her gaze, he said the first thing that popped into his mind. "You have too many clothes on."

Brennan laughed and smiled wickedly. "That's easily rectified."

She slid off the bed and without modesty, quickly disrobed down to just her black satin and lace bra and panties, a set she'd selected just for this night.

Booth watched her every move, soaking in the sight of skin he'd never seen before. She was lean, her muscles toned just enough that you could discern the strength beneath the creamy softness of her skin. The flare of her hips dipping into a narrower waist topped by a pair of luscious looking soft breasts that he couldn't wait to sample presented a picture he never wanted to forget. "Damn, Bones. You are so beautiful."

She crawled back onto the bed, this time throwing one leg over his body so she was fully straddling him. He couldn't resist the urge to tilt his hips and push his cock up against her crotch as she settled down against him and he didn't miss the clear gasp of pleasure she emitted as she pushed back. The only thing separating him from being inside her was the thin barrier of her panties and the slightly thicker barrier of his sweatpants but even with those barriers, he could feel the heat from her core as his shaft nestled snugly against her.

Brennan placed both hands, palms down, on his chest and began to touch. "I've wanted to do this for so long," she confessed as she let her hands wander all over his torso. Once she'd mapped his entire upper body with her fingers, from his shoulders down to where her thighs pressed against his waist, she leaned forward and started exploring him with her mouth. Nibbling kisses along his jawline, a soft moist kiss including gentle nips from her teeth at his ear, open mouthed kisses that trailed down his throat as he threw his head back and bared his neck to her.

Brennan scooted backwards, resting her ass on his thighs, and continued on with her explorations taking her cues from his reactions to her administrations, learning what things made him moan, suck in his breath, or shudder and arch his back. She discovered his nipples _were_ quite sensitive and that nibbling on the skin around them with just enough pressure to give a slight sting made him crazy. She learned that too light of pressure on his abdominals tickled but that firm wet kisses right below his navel left him breathless.

She grabbed onto the edges of his waistband and looked back at his face, capturing his eyes. "May I?"

"Yes. Please." His voice was husky with arousal. "But then you need to reciprocate, Bones. I don't want to be the only one naked here."

"That seems fair." She grinned as she scooted off the back of the bed and tugged his pants down, dropping them out of sight on the ground by his feet before removing her own remaining garments as well.

As she crawled back on the bed, she slid her hand between his thighs, cupping his balls and giving them a gentle caress before sliding her hand up and fisting his cock. Her hand slid up and down several times, her thumb brushing across the crown on each upstroke to smear his precum around. "You have a beautiful penis, Booth," she uttered, right before sucking the tip between her lips.

Booth moaned in pleasure. The way she touched him, the way she sucked him, it was incredible but something didn't feel right. "Oh God, Bones . . . that feels amazing, but . . . I don't want this to be just about you pleasuring me . . . I want this to be about us . . . pleasuring each other . . . especially this first time. Untie me . . . please?"

"Of course." She released him immediately and crawled forward again so she could reach the bindings at his wrists.

Booth flexed his fingers and arms as soon as they were free to get the blood flowing again then reached for her hips. He could feel the dampness between her legs as she straddled him and he reached for her, running a finger through her curls and rubbing her clit back and forth. "You're so wet."

"Booooth," she moaned and he loved the sound of his name on her lips. "Oh . . . . oh, my . . . watching you . . . touching you . . . I'm already so close . . . If you want was this to be about us, together, then I need you inside me . . . now."

Booth reached up and nudged her chin with a bent finger so he could look her directly in the eye. "I'm ready for this, Bones. Are you sure you are?"

Gazing back at him, Brennan nodded. "Yes, I'm ready, Booth. For this and everything else that goes along with it."

He studied her for just a few seconds, then said "Good. Then take me."

Brennan reached down between their bodies and wrapped her fingers around his cock, positioning it so the head was at the entrance to her channel, then slid down, engulfing him in warm, wet heat.

Booth had always loved sex and was a far cry from blushing virgin. He prided himself on how few times in his life either his partner or himself had been left unsatisfied, but this was different. The sensation of Bones sliding up and down his cock, the muscles of her vaginal walls clamping down on him with each stroke, milking him was both familiar and yet totally new. _She knew him_. She knew his weaknesses and his strengths. She knew his past and his history. She knew the things he'd done which caused him regrets and the things he was most proud of. She knew the demons he'd overcome and those which he still battled on a constant basis. Despite all that she knew about him, this amazing, beautiful, tender-hearted woman who always demanded having the best, wanted him. Emotions unlike anything he'd ever experienced washed over him making this experience between the two of them so much more than anything he'd ever felt before.

Brennan leaned down and kissed him, their pelvises rocking together in a gentle rhythm. Deep kisses broken up by small ones along his jaw or across his cheek accompanied by words she couldn't hold back. He felt good, so good inside her. She'd wanted him like this for so long. She may have untied him, but she wasn't letting him go anytime soon. But, when she whispered that she loved him, he lost the control he'd been hanging onto by a thread.

Booth flipped her over onto her back, taking control. He began to thrust deeper, harder, more quickly. She matched him stroke for stroke. They'd always enjoyed a certain synchronicity in their interactions and apparently that carried through to their lovemaking too. "Bones . . . Oh, God."

"Booth . . so good. Can't wait much longer."

"Don't wait. I'm with you. Let go. Cum for me."

He felt her back arch as her body went rigid and the walls of her sheath clamped down on him, triggering his own release. They shattered together in perfect accompaniment to one another.

As their movements slowed and their bodies began to cool, Booth pulled out of her and rolled onto his back, bringing Brennan with him, close to his chest. "Damn, Bones," he huffed, still slightly out of breath.

Brennan crossed her hands on his chest and propped her chin on them, looking up at him with a satisfied smile. "So, you're not angry with me for kidnapping you?"

Booth laughed. "No. If this is how you exorcise your urges for criminal activities, count me in anytime."

THE END

* * *

 **A/N:** _Thanks for reading. I always love to hear your thoughts! Please recall that this is a work of fiction and this author does not recommend, condone, or promote the practice of kidnapping FBI agents, no matter how hot they are._


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